Into the Lioness' Den
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: Aventures in dating: Slayer, meet Hitter.
1. Into the Lioness' Den

**Title**: Into the Lioness' Den

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Summary**: _Buffy didn't know what to think when Eliot Spencer showed up in Cleveland_. 1200 words.

**Prompt**: 24 Days of Ficmas, Day 13: For stellarluna35. Prompt: Buffy Summers and Eliot Spencer, "Why are all the crazy ones blonde?" A bit of what came after my big bang fic, "The Soul Job." Borrows a small detail from the episode "The Ho-Ho-Ho Job".

* * *

Buffy didn't know what to think when Eliot Spencer showed up in Cleveland.

She knew who he was, of course. After she'd got through ripping Spike a new one for not telling her he was alive, and ripping Angel a new one period, she'd narrowed her eyes at her first former ex and asked exactly who those other people had been in his office.

She'd recognized the name Lindsey McDonald from previous uncomfortable conversations with Faith. He'd been the guy who'd hired her sister Slayer to try and kill Angel, back in the day- when _he'd_ been a Wolfram and Hart employee in good standing and _Angel_ had been the one trying to bring it down from outside. More power to him for wanting to break his contract with the scum-sucking evil, though she'd doubted she'd ever be a fan. But that wasn't the name she'd really been after.

Nor had it been Mr. Pot-oh-lockidus, the other lawyer guy; or even the hottie hacker, as lickable as he might be otherwise. She'd wanted the deets on the guy who'd tried to fade into the background- tried, and might very well have succeeded, if the Slayer instincts in the back of Buffy's brain hadn't woken up and taken notice of him. It was amazing what a uniform, a pair of glasses, and submissive body language could do. But when she'd looked him in the eye, the air around him had come alive with the impression of coiled, waiting strength.

He'd recognized something in her, too: and the wariness in his gaze had sent an electric shiver up her spine. A _predator_ lived in that chameleon's skin, she was sure of it. But she hadn't had time to focus on him; he'd been Angel's problem, a complete stranger to her, and she'd had Spike to deal with.

As it happened, Angel's problem had turned out to be the annoying lawyer's twin, with a dark reputation all his own. Like his brother, he'd been tainted with the brush of past association with Wolfram and Hart- but _unlike_ Lindsey, Angel's security had flinched at the bare mention of his name. As someone else who tended to inspire fight or flight in the more minion-y types of evil, Buffy'd found that a little less ominous than Angel probably intended. But it hadn't brought her any closer to figuring out her reaction to Eliot, either; and she hadn't wanted to involve Willow in what might after all just be one of her H's, as Faith would say, acting up.

Five weeks had gone by, and she'd almost managed to put him out of her mind. Then, one Tuesday afternoon, the witch womanning the front desk came back to Buffy's borrowed office with a bemused smile and the news that the senior Slayer had a visitor.

A male visitor. Named Eliot. Who wanted to know if Buffy wanted to grab a coffee.

A _coffee_? Buffy was baffled. A coffee was _never_ just a coffee. What the hell could he really want in Cleveland?

Something business-y, probably. When the elevator doors swept open, she got a glimpse of a man in worn jeans paired with heavy boots, a tight long-sleeved shirt under a screenprinted tee, and a blue knit cap tugged down above his ears. That was either the wardrobe of a guy who _wasn't_ trying to make an impression- or a guy who was utterly secure in being able to attract women with more than just his looks. In that moment, before he saw her, she felt a small, crushing surge of disappointment; the promise of that first exchange was fizzling out on her.

Then he looked up- and his hot gaze transfixed her like a spear.

Okay. So, maybe Eliot Spencer _did_just have coffee in mind... the kind that came with breakfast in bed the next morning. Buffy swallowed, and reminded herself how badly her hormones had wrecked things in the past. If this guy wanted her to grab his coffee, he was going to have to _earn_ it first, she decided.

"Mr. Spencer," she greeted him, coolly.

"Ms. Summers," he replied, in a low, rumbly voice that did pleasant things to her nerves. He took her outstretched hand- but instead of shaking it, brushed the pad of his thumb over the backs of her fingers, and squeezed it gently before letting it go. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

She suppressed a shiver at the gesture. He was good; and he'd done _his_ research, too. But had he done enough?

"I was just headed out for the evening," she apologized brightly, "but I'll probably pass by a little coffee house that does an iced peppermint mocha to _die_ for on my way to Highland Park, if you wanna tag along. I'd love to hear the story of how you got mixed up with Angel."

His eyebrow twitched a little at the pairing of the words _die_ and _Highland Park_- so he _was_ clued, that would make things more interesting- but he didn't back down; he leaned closer, in fact, until she could smell the base musky scent of him under the faintest odor of vanilla-scented shampoo. "It wasn't me so much as my baby brother," he said, "but you know family; I couldn't just let him walk into the lion's den without me. And speaking of lions. Is this the kind of 'headed out' that involves public transportation, or the kind that means I should be grateful I got a Hanzo sword for Christmas?"

Eliot said that last with a wry, pleased kind of smile that made something flutter in her gut; she had a serious competency kink, she'd discovered over the years, which had been why it had never worked out with Xander. He'd always been at his hottest when he'd needed her least. Even hotter than Eliot's confidence, though, was the casual reference he'd let drop with that smile: Buffy was nearly as bad as Faith about the sharp and shiny.

"You have a Hanzo?" She couldn't stop herself from lighting up like a dork, checking at waist and shoulder to see if she'd somehow missed noticing a sword there before.

He blinked; but then his smile sharpened, and he reached down against the foot of the reception desk to lift an absolutely recognizable form, one her fingers instantly itched to touch.

"Let me pay for your coffee, and I'll let you play with it, too," he said, a hint of tease in his voice.

Oh, he'd pay for that; but Buffy nodded anyway. "Deal," she said.

Eliot shook his head, and muttered something that sounded a lot like, 'why are all the crazy ones blonde?' But his smile hadn't faded. Then he settled the sword's scabbard in a comfortable sling across his chest and back and extended a gentlemanly elbow in her direction.

She took it, feeling a bubble of delighted anticipation welling up inside: not at _all_ what she'd expected when she got up that morning.

Nor what she'd expected from even a tangential connection of Angel's, whatever side Eliot was ultimately on.

The chase was on- and she was looking forward to finding out where it would lead.

-x-


	2. Dating By Hellmouth Rules

**Title**: Dating By Hellmouth Rules

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: T

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: _Somehow, this was not how Eliot had envisioned the reunion going._ 1200 words.

**Spoilers**: Leverage kind of mid-S2-ish; post-series for Buffy; AU-ish S5 for Angel

**Notes**: 24 Days of Ficmas 2011, Day 5: for lizbet0. Prompt: "More of the aftermath of The Soul Job. Either a) Parker and Hardison run into vampires and have to defend themselves till Eliot and Buffy arrive; bonus points for references to pretzels, or b) What happens to Lindsay after he's free from Wolfram & Hart?"

* * *

"Eliot? Eliot! Tell me you still got your earbud on, man," Hardison's voice suddenly came to life in his ear, a little winded like he'd been working out or something.

Eliot blinked and touched a hand to the Bluetooth receiver; he'd almost forgotten he still had it in, mostly in case Tara ran into some trouble or other on her part of the latest con. Sophie wasn't back yet, and Lindsey hadn't shown his face in Boston in the month and a half since the team's trip to L.A., so they were still stuck with the woman. She was kind of starting to grow on him, but he still didn't feel as comfortable trusting her off on her own as he would have if Sophie was playing the role.

"Yeah, Hardison, I'm here. What's got your panties in a twist?" he asked, halting in the shadow of a tree just outside the entrance to the next graveyard on his impromptu patrol schedule.

Buffy halted next to him, hands in her pockets against the early February chill, and tilted her head in curiosity. Probably listening in, not that he minded; he'd have waved her off if it was something he didn't want her to hear.

"Your scary girlfriend there, too? 'Cause-" A heavy clattering sound like a bunch of crates falling over interrupted him. "_Shit_, Parker, what're you- oh, good thinking. Man, hand me a pair of those."

"_Hardison_," Eliot growled. "Yeah, she's here. What the hell are you two doin'?"

He regretted asking almost as soon as the words left his mouth; Hardison had _said_ he'd be taking Parker to Auntie Anne's, but if that had been some kind of weird pretzel metaphor and not a literal trip to the food court in South Station, Eliot _really_ didn't want to know.

"Making stakes! Sorry, sorry- it's kind of a long- Parker, this way! _Crap_, we ain't losing 'em; and it's still three blocks to the apartment." Hardison gulped audibly, the sound backed by the quick slap of rubber against pavement. "Eliot..."

No, they weren't working out, or anything else he'd have to bleach his brain about later: Hardison was running. From someone- or some_thing_, if Eliot factored in the sound of splintering wood. Which didn't make any sense. What would bloodsuckers be doing in Boston?

"Hardison? _Hardison?_"

The hacker didn't answer; instead, a loud banging noise carried over the tiny speaker, and everything went real quiet and muffled.

...Shit. Eliot turned and immediately started running toward the truck, his carefully planned 'casual date night' with the Slayer abandoned.

"Well I guess now we know where all the vampires are tonight," Buffy quipped, darting ahead of him to throw open the passenger side door and vault in.

"Shoulda _known_ something like this was gonna happen," he shook his head as he got behind the wheel and started her up, burning rubber as he spun around and floored it back toward McRory's. "Been too damn quiet since we left L.A. Gotta be a hit. Boston proper's been off limits since the Saints cleared out the underbrush back in '99; somebody must be paying these fangs a lot for them to risk it."

"Saints?" Buffy asked, frowning over at him. "I'm guessing you don't mean the guys from New Orleans with the sparkly new rings?"

He spared a second of attention from the road to throw her a skeptical glance. "You honestly don't know, or you tryin' to take my mind off Hardison and Parker?"

"Hm. Little of both?" she admitted. "We've heard rumors, but, you know. They were human, but they weren't our crowd, and no one in the know was much inclined to talk. But why patrol, then, if...?"

Eliot cleared his throat; he'd been _kind_ of hoping for quiet night, not that he was going to admit it. "Better ask Nate about 'em, later; he's from around here..." He raised a finger as the earbud crackled back to life. "Hardison! You there?"

"Damn, that was _close_," Hardison breathed out with a sigh of relief.

"_Too_ close," he heard Parker add, almost on top of him. "He _smelled_. Do they really have trouble with running water, like in the myths?"

"What? _What_ was close?" Eliot asked, jerking the wheel hard over as he took the next intersection against the light. Traffic was pretty sparse, but he still set off a chorus of honking horns as he skidded through the unsignaled turn. Still a few blocks to go, damn it.

"Dude, don't give me that attitude. Vamps not be much to you, but that one that knocked my earbud out? I'm damn proud of me and Parker for taking him. Where's your girlfriend, anyway? Thought you said she was with you."

Eliot shared another startled look with Buffy at that- then swore. "She _is_ with me. Pullin' up in front of McRory's right now."

"What? No, man, I _see_ you..." Hardison broke off briefly as he finally caught a clue- then kept right on babbling. "Uh, talkin' without moving your mouth. Hey! That's new."

Eliot rolled his eyes. Because the simplest explanation was _obviously_ telepathy.

"Hardison, whoever you're lookin' at? That ain't me." It was probably another attacker; Buffy had told him about the Order of Teraka, and he wouldn't put it past Wolfram and Hart to have hired someone like that to prove you couldn't pull one over on the company without consequences. A shapeshifter, maybe, or someone wearing a glamour...

"Kinda getting that. _Dude_."

Hardison's voice went back to indignant as Eliot and Buffy threw themselves out of the truck, following Buffy's spidey sense toward the nearest supernatural whatever. She claimed her skill in that wasn't much compared to other Slayers, but Boston was like a still pond compared to the whirlpool of a Hellmouth; it didn't take much to pick up a ripple.

"Where you _been_, man?" the hacker continued. "Eliot's been pouting, you got no idea how _disturbing_ that is. And one of you's really got to cut your hair or change your wardrobe or something, cause that's damn confusing."

...'cause surely, if his brother was in town, he would have called.

"I ain't been pouting," Eliot said, breathing heavily from the run as they finally reached the dusty sidewalk where Hardison and Parker stood facing his double. "I _said_ he'd come when he was ready. I just didn't expect him to take so damn long to make up his mind."

Lindsey ignored that, turning a brightly amused smirk toward Buffy. "Slayer," he greeted her.

"Lawyer," she replied, arching an unimpressed eyebrow.

"S'pose that's fair," he grinned, then nodded at Hardison. "You're welcome, by the way. Though I figure they were probably here after me anyway."

...Yeah, and that made more sense than Eliot would like. "You better have a good explanation," he growled.

Lindsey nodded, finally meeting his gaze. "Yeah. Not here, though. McRory's? It's kind of a long story."

"Just like old times, then," he said, thinking of Nepal and the balcony of a crumbling old opera house.

"Yeah." Lindsey's smile faded ominously as he glanced away again. "Just like old times."

Somehow, this was _not_ how Eliot had envisioned the reunion going.

-x-


End file.
